


Organised Lightning

by preussisch_blau



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward situations, Barrison Week 2016, Doppelcest, Doppelganger, Drinking, Karaoke, M/M, Morning After, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snacks & Snack Food, Threesome, UST, Vaguely Implied Sexual Content, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preussisch_blau/pseuds/preussisch_blau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated ficlets for Barrison Week 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Challenging myself to write one new fic every day this week for Barrison Week, because writing challenges are fun and I haven't done one in a while.
> 
> Ficlets should be considered stand-alone unless otherwise specified.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **• Day 1:** Morning After
> 
> Beta read by dancesontrains

Barry had many regrets in his life, and right now, one of them was waking up.

Oh God, he was sore. He was sore in places he didn't even think were possible to hurt, muscle groups he had entirely forgotten the existence of sometime between college and now. He buried his face in the pillow and groaned softly.

It just wasn't fair. He had enhanced healing to go with his super speed. He spent most days running across the city multiple times. He should not, in any way, shape, or form, feel this beat up after last night. But he did. Oh, how he did. His hips ached, there was an annoyingly persistent twinge of pain in his abdomen, and he was fairly certain that, were it _not_ for the aforementioned healing factor, he'd still feel like a human shaped blob of jelly.

A pair of hands dropped down onto his shoulders -which kind of _hurt_ , thank you very much- and he yelped in shock.

"Up," a familiar rasping voice muttered into his ear.

Ah, yes, that asshole. Barry grumbled and pressed his face more firmly into the pillow. "Go 'way, Harry."

That earned him a chuckle, and he felt the bed dip as Harrison sat down next to him. "Come on, time to get up."

"No," he whinged, "I hurt and it's _your_ fault. All your fault."

The hands on his shoulders squeezed gently, then withdrew. "Mm, really?"

"Yes, really." He turned his head, because breathing the same heated air he exhaled felt a little like suffocating by this point. "Are you even _human?_ You're like a _machine,_ I swear. How are you _moving._ "

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Harrison mused.

" _Yes,_ actually, I would." And Barry didn't care if he sounded petulant, because it was all that jerk's fault, and why did he think it would be a good idea to let him spend the night?

"Part of it is _not_ laying in bed all morning just because I had a late night. Now, up."

Barry huffed, and rolled so his back was to Harry. "I _hurt._ No."

He heard the soft, frustrated exhale. "Pain is just weakness leaving the body, Allen."

"Oh no, oh _fuck_ no," Barry growled as he pushed himself upright, turned to face Harrison despite how his body protested, his limbs felt like lead weights. "You are _not_ using cliché army sayings on me and you are _not_ calling me 'Allen' after what you did last night."

Harry just chuckled, the amusement plain in his eyes even if the lines of his face were a bit too stoic to match. "And here I thought I was too easy on you. What happened to that enhanced healing factor of yours?"

"Easy? _EASY?!_ You call _that_ … easy!" he yelped and stared at Harrison incredulously. "Nope, that's it, we're going back to S.T.A.R. and having Caitlin run some more tests, because you _can't_ be human. You're a meta. Or an android. Something! But not. human!"

Harrison got to his feet, still clearly finding humour in this entire situation, and crossed his arms. "I assure you, I am very human, and not of the metahuman subset. Now, get up. I know you can't be sore, I've seen you walk off concussions."

"You know nothing, Harrison Wells," Barry intoned dramatically. 

"And winter will be coming if you don't get out of that damn bed right this second, so I would suggest moving," Harry replied drily.

Of course they had _Game of Thrones_ on Earth-2. Barry sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Actually, now that he was moving again, he did feel a little less sore. Then again, his metabolism was all sorts of weird -things he'd thought he'd shake quickly tended to linger, and vice-versa- so maybe it was just that the unusual exertion followed by collapsing into sleep immediately after hadn't given his body a chance to work the lactic acid properly out of his muscles.

He glanced over at the clock.

Then he looked again, a bit more sharply. "It's not even six in the morning!" he cried.

"Nope," Harry said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But it's still time to get up."

"Do you _remember_ what time I went to bed?! It was midnight!"

"Yes, and?"

"No wonder I'm still sore…" Barry groaned. He almost flopped back onto the bed. Almost. But Harrison was still standing there, and he was certain that if he tried to lay back down he'd be forcibly separated from his blankets.

"You're still not _out_ of bed," Harrison pointed out, in a tone that sounded like he thought he was being _helpful._

Barry cast a glare in his direction. "Working on it."

"I've seen snails move faster, Barry. Snails."

"Fight me, Harry."

"We can add that to the schedule after our work-out, if you ever manage to get up."

"…Work-out?" Barry asked with trepidation. "But… we just… last night! We just did that last night!"

Harry quirked his eyebrows at him. "And as I recall, you're the one who wanted to be 'exercise buddies'."

He even put finger quotes around that phrase. Finger quotes. Which was just not anything Barry had ever expected to see from any incarnation of Harrison Wells by this point. 

But that didn't matter, because there was a more pressing concern, and it was apparently that Harry had decided he'd signed up for _boot camp,_ and not the 'Hey, I don't like exercising alone and we've all agreed I can't rely on the superheroics as my only source of physical activity so let's have fun together' that Barry had _meant_ when he'd asked Harrison to work out with him.

He should _not_ have so readily accepted that Harry would lead.

"That was before! I take it back. I take it all back! I don't need the exercise!"


	2. And It Burns, Burns, Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **• Day 2:** Awkward Situations
> 
> Beta read by dancesontrains
> 
>  
> 
> _Karaoke wasn't a terrible idea in and of itself. Dragging Harry along? Yeah, that was where Barry didn't think his plan all the way through._
> 
> (Set prior to 2x10)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be bordering on crack. It's certainly ridiculous enough. (Also, headcanons. Silly, silly headcanons.)

It was a terrible idea.

Okay, not so much the whole going to a bar and singing thing. He'd done it before, most notably with just Caitlin, and the only part of it that had been bad had been how much Caitlin had had to drink. So, no, a karaoke night wasn't an inherently bad idea, especially when most of the participants had no sorrows to drown. Or were incapable of drowning any sorrows they had, in Barry's case. (They did, however, all have problems they likely wanted to forget about for a night, but alcohol was never entirely necessary for that.)

The part that made it a horrible idea was the part where he'd decided to all but _drag_ Harry along.

Inviting Harrison had actually been _Cisco's_ idea, and if that wasn't proof of how Cisco had gotten over a lot of his instinctive dislike -well, okay, that was putting it mildly- of Harrison Wells, Barry wasn't sure what was.

Except Harry had declined.

He'd had perfectly logical reasons for it to: He'd gotten shot because he looked like a certain infamous mad scientist. He was certain he'd just ruin any cheerful mood that the others were in. He had to figure out how to stop Zoom.

But Barry was just incapable of leaving well enough alone. Because it wasn't like most people knew Harrison Wells was still alive, so they could play it off as an unfortunate resemblance. He couldn't say that for sure, and if he _deliberately_ tried to spoil the mood Barry would make him regret it in very unspecified ways. (Barry didn't quite have a plan just then, just a vague idea involving Lady Gaga's complete discography and the S.T.A.R. Labs overhead speakers.) He was going to burn himself out at the rate he was going; taking an actual _break_ could give him a new perspective.

Which was how they had ended up where they were now, in the middle of one of the worst ideas Barry had ever had.

* * *

It was like the multiverse had conspired to prove Harrison Wells right and Barry Allen wrong.

They hadn't even been in the bar for two minutes when the bartender came over to their table asking for I.D.s. Which wasn't a big deal on the surface; Cisco was pretty baby faced and neither Caitlin nor Barry looked like they were anything but the twenty-somethings they were. Except the bartender had given only a cursory glance at their I.D.s, then handed them back, before he thrusted his hand out towards Harry.

"Yours too."

Barry swallowed nervously, and he could see his own worries reflected in Cisco and Caitlin's expressions. Apparently they had all assumed that Harry looked old enough to be in a bar, no questions asked, even if he didn't quite look like he was in his fifties.

"I'm flattered, but I don't think that's necessary," Harry smiled at the man, though the goodwill he was trying to project didn't meet his eyes.

"I.D., or I'm calling the cops," the bartender replied. Though Barry might not have always been the best at reading hidden intentions into someone's tone, it sounded like the man was going to be calling the cops anyways as soon as he saw that Harry was Harrison Wells.

Harry sighed, then reached into one of the pockets of his coat and pulled out a black leather wallet that looked like it had seen better days. He flipped it open, pulled out a card, and held it out pinched between fore and middle fingers. The bartender took it, and this time he scrutinised it carefully.

The longer he looked, the more Barry worried, because the longer he looked, the deeper his frown grew. Finally, the bartender spoke again. "Harry Chambers?"

He sounded like he wasn't at all convinced.

"Yes," Harry replied, false smile back in place as he leaned back in his chair. "That would be me."

"Date of birth."

"July 24th, 1963."

"Address."

Harry rattled off an address that sounded remarkably familiar to Barry's ears. Barry furrowed his brows as he tried to thi- he _didn't._ He did _not._ Barry turned to look at Harry, about to ask him why on _Earth_ he put _his_ address on his fake I.D., when Harry winked at him.

Right. Don't question the fake in front of the person they needed to convince of the validity of it. Oh, but he was going to _grill_ Harry as soon as the bartender was out of earshot.

"I'll be right back," the aforementioned bartender said. He left, and took Harry's I.D. with him, which made Harry frown.

" _Really?_ " Barry hissed as he leaned in. "Of all the addresses in Central City, you chose _that one?_ "

"I needed an address, and you left your wallet sitting out." Harry shrugged.

"Well, it makes sense for him to use one of our addresses," Caitlin whispered, "Because if he just pulled one from a phone book or the internet, he'd run the risk of running into the person who actually lives there."

"You coulda warned me…" Barry muttered and rubbed the back of his neck.

The bartender returned with a scowl, and he tossed the I.D. down in front of Harrison, who just calmly picked it up and returned it to his wallet.

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked.

"No, no problem, Mr Chambers." The bartender still sounded doubtful, like he wasn't convinced that Harrison was who he'd proved he was, but he didn't make any further accusations. "Y'all enjoy your night."

After he returned to the bar, Cisco huffed. "Geez, all that and he couldn't take our drink order while he was here?"

"So glad your priorities are in order, Frisco," Harrison remarked sardonically. 

"Hey, your I.D. was good! If it _wasn't_ , we'd have bigger things to worry about than no drinks."

"Cisco has a point," Caitlin said. She tilted her head and nodded briefly towards Cisco. "So. I think I speak for us all when I ask… Chambers? Any reason for that last name?"

Harrison looked off towards the stage where a twig of a blonde college girl was doing a slightly off-key rendition of 'Rolling in the Deep'. His tongue darted out over his lower lip, then he responded, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. "Legally speaking, it _is_ the first half of my surname. I just don't use it professionally."

"Okay, but why not?" Cisco asked. "I mean, Harrison Chambers Wells doesn't sound _that_ awful -though I gotta admit, just Harrison Wells _does_ have a better ring to it-, and if it's part of your name-"

"Because," Harrison sighed as he looked back towards the group, "I took my wife's name when we married."

"Ooooh," Caitlin hummed in agreement. "Publication history, that makes sense. Same reason I never planned to take Ronnie's name."

"Huh. Why did you do that?" Barry asked. He hadn't meant to sound rude in any way, because it really was just curiousity. It wasn't like he hadn't heard of hyphenated names before. But the almost glare he got from Harry made him feel like he'd said something horribly mean.

"Barry!" Caitlin interjected, "Would you ask a girl why she changed her name?"

He didn't even have to think about the answer to that question, and that made Barry look down at his hands, now thoroughly chastised. "Sorry, sorry. That was… sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Harry hummed, but seemed mollified by the apology.

* * *

They'd all gotten drinks, in the form of something unnaturally green for Cisco and Caitlin, and sodas for Harry and him. Whatever Cisco had gotten them, it had apparently been as strong as it was easy to drink, because Caitlin already seemed a bit tipsy. Buzzed enough that she had gone up on-stage to sing.

She made it approximately one sentence into the first verse of her song before Harrison pushed himself away from the table and disappeared momentarily into the crowd of people. When he returned, it was with a dark bottle in his hand, which he drank from as soon as he sat down.

Barry kind of understood the sentiment, even if he was certain Caitlin would not appreciate discovering that her singing had driven Harry to get a beer. But she really was just… not good at it.

"Wait," Cisco said as he stared at Harry. Or, more accurately, at the bottle that he'd just sat down. "…Seriously? You drink Miller?"

Harrison raised an eyebrow at him, face otherwise absolutely unreadable. "Yes, I do. Is there a problem with that?"

"No, no. Just… Didn't think you were a cheap beer kind of guy."

That sent the other eyebrow up as Harry leaned back in his chair. His hand rested on the table, fingertips drumming in a regular pattern from pinky to index. "Oh?"

"…Dr Wells drank whiskey," Barry explained.

Harry winced, like he was mortally wounded. Offended. Offended was a way better choice of descriptor, considering the man _had_ been mortally wounded and only saved by the perfect alignment of circumstances. "A vile drink for a vile man. As I've said, I'm not him. And given the choice, I wouldn't touch that stuff."

"Fair enough," Cisco conceeded, "but, dude, you're apparently super successful back at your home, so… _cheap_ beer?!"

"It serves its purpose." Harry shrugged with one shoulder, then took another sip of his beer.

* * *

By the time a third empty bottle had joined the small collection of glasses on the table, Caitlin had convinced Cisco to join her for a duet. Barry had to chuckle when he heard the opening notes of the song. Apparently Caitlin either really liked _Grease_ , or 'Summer Nights' was the only duet she knew. At least he wasn't the one who was dragged up on-stage this time. The last time had been a _lot_ embarrassing, even if he was better at singing than he claimed to be.

Harry shrugged out of his hoodie, and all thoughts of singing fled from Barry's mind. Because Harrison was only wearing a t-shirt underneath, and even though it was an ordinary black one, nothing special about it, the kind of shirt that he probably spent a lot of money on when he could have just gone to Walmart and gotten the same thing for five bucks… Even though all of that was true?

None of it changed the fact that Barry's libido was currently praising the inventor of the t-shirt.

"Oh man," Barry mumbled as he rubbed his hand over his face and looked away. He'd have thought that, considering Harry looked exactly like the man who killed his mom, he was immune to all of that. But, no. Barry was apparently still very much human and very much easily distracted by a strong pair of arms.

Really, no man had the right to look that good in a ballcap and t-shirt. It was the most generic outfit _ever._ Not that he was a fashion plate himself, but come on. It just wasn't _fair._

He fiercely reminded himself that he had a girlfriend. A very pretty girlfriend who he cared very deeply for.

"Do you think we should cut her off before she gets any worse?" Harry's voice broke into his thoughts, tone vaguely amused.

Barry looked over at him, met his eyes over the bottle Harrison had raised to his lips. "You can try, but I can't promise you'll succeed."

"Hm." Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Barry was definitely _not_ staring at that.

He turned away slightly, until Harry wa just in his periphery, a flush rising to his cheeks, because apparently he just could not control himself tonight. Which was weird, because he hadn't even bothered pretending to drink. It meant he couldn't blame alcohol in some fashion despite being incapable of getting remotely drunk for any length of time without the help of supersolutions of ethanol.

"You could," Harry suggested, "just take her drinks from her. It's not like she can keep up with you."

"That," Barry chuckled, "would fall under the category of irresponsible use of superpowers. And not because keeping someone from getting wasted is irresponsible, but because I'd probably end up revealing my identity to the entire bar in my attempts to keep her from drinking."

Harry raised his eyebrows, bobbed his head off to the side in concession to Barry's point. "Valid. Perhaps get drinks for her and have the bartender make them without alcohol? It's not like she's been drinking anything where you can really _taste_ it."

"Hm, maybe? But honestly that'd probably just spare her a massive hangover in the morning. Which, you know, would be a nice thing to do, but it wouldn't save us from her singing."

"Now that wasn't very kind," Harry remarked, eyes bright. A slow smile spread across his face as he crossed his arms on top of the table and leaned towards Barry. "I wonder what Snow would think if she knew."

"Don't tell Cait I said that? Please?" Barry begged.

"What's it worth to you."

"…I am _not_ bribing you for your silence."

"And now the good boy returns." Harry quirked his eyebrows briefly before he looked away and took another drink. "We really do need to work on that moral code of yours."

"Excuse me?" He felt borderline offended by that comment.

"You won't give me incentive to keep my mouth shut," Harrison explained, eyes still on the stage, "yet you _have_ killed people. Criminals, yes, but that doesn't necessarily make it _right._ Your prior plan for dealing with metahuman criminals involved locking them up without trial or due process in a failed particle accelerator. By the way, I do wonder why you never once asked why it was so easy to turn your Pipeline into a prison. And I should point out that technically you are a vigilante, even if the people of this city adore you. But. You won't make my silence worth my while."

Barry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, because Harry did have a point. Even if he made it in the most absolutely _dickish_ way. Though he wasn't sure if he even had anything that Harry might accept as good enough payment in exchange for not repeating that comment.

Although what did it say about Harry's morals that he wouldn't have just kept that to himself because it was the nice thing to do? It wasn't like he had much room to talk about morality, really, now that Barry thought about it. What with the secrets he'd kept about the particle accelerator on Earth-2, how he'd just shot that giant shark-man and left him for dead… Yeah, no, this was a distinct case of the pot calling the kettle black, so he was not even going to dignify any of what Harry had just said with a response.

Instead, he slipped out of his chair and went to sign up for a song himself.

* * *

The multiverse had _definitely_ agreed to conspire with Harrison to prove him right and Barry wrong.

He hadn't anticipated that once he went up there, Caitlin would pressure Harry to sing as well. In retrospect, he really should have, and if anyone wanted proof that it was possible to get drunk just by being in a good mood and being around people who were happily drunk? Barry was pretty sure he was living proof, because he kind of felt a bit like he did back before the lightning struck, on the occasions he went out drinking. That cheerful, fuzzy headed feeling that made logical thought a little difficult.

Harry had, to his credit, demurred politely. Then more forcefully. Then finally conceded when Barry gave up on helping argue on his behalf and pointed out that the last time he'd refused to sing, Caitlin had gone up on the stage and gotten the entire bar to chant his name until he surrendered. So it would probably be in his best interest to just… agree.

At least he'd be able to pick the song if he went up there willingly?

Now Barry had some regrets, because if Caitlin had chosen the song, it probably would have been upbeat. Or at least not… _that._

Who the Hell thought 'Hurt' was an appropriate choice for a fun night of drinking at the karaoke bar?

Harrison Chambers Wells, apparently.

"…On the one hand," Cisco said, "he's good. On the other hand, did he hafta pick _that_ song? Is he tryna kill the mood on purpose?"

"Well, we _did_ kind of twist his arm…" Barry muttered.

"I think I'm gonna cry…" Caitlin sighed as she leaned against the table. And it wasn't in the tone of she was going to cry because Harry was awful to listen to, either.

No, not only did he have a surprisingly smooth singing voice for how much he rasped when he spoke, but he was also pushing emotion into the song. Enough to make Barry's heart stutter painfully, clench tightly. He wanted to do something, anything, to chase away the dark feelings that so clearly coloured Harry's voice, and felt helpless because the only way to do that was to rescue the man's daughter, guilty because he'd badgered Harry into coming with them instead of letting him work.

He took a long drink of his soda, and briefly considered getting something stronger in the hope that the taste would be enough to wash some of his sour emotions away.

* * *

Harry was a warm, comfortable presence where the man leaned against him. Which was weird and paradoxically also _un_ comfortable, and not entirely because of Barry's overactive… imagination. Honestly, it was mostly weird because Harry hated to be touched, but here he was, almost cuddled up to Barry's side. They stood outside the bar, having just seen Cisco and Caitlin off, and now there was the matter of what to do with Harry.

It wasn't like he could pack a drunk man who looked exactly like Harrison Wells into a taxi and tell the driver to take him to S.T.A.R. Labs. That would only draw unwanted attention.

"So, uh," Barry cleared his throat.

Harry straightened up a bit, blinked at him. His eyes still shone with the hazy brightness of too much to drink, but his gaze was definitely focused on Barry and not drifting off anywhere else. "Yes?"

"Do you, um, well," he started. Paused. Took a deep breath. "Wanna just come back to my place?"

That got him an amused look.

Barry quickly cut in to explain before Harry opened his mouth and said _anything_ about how that sounded. "It's closer than the labs and I dunno if I can get you a taxi and if we run too far you might throw up and I really don't wanna deal with _that_ level of projectile vomiting."

Harry laughed, and it was almost worth how embarrassed Barry was in that moment, because it was soft and genuine. It led to Harry's head thumped down lightly on his shoulder. And Barry was kind of just soaking in all the contact, because he was certain that come morning, Harry was going to be back to his usual prickly self.

"Well, when you put it that way…" he hummed.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"…I don't see why not. But if you only have one bed, I want it."

Barry chuckled and patted Harry on the back. "Yeah, sure, not a problem."

It really wasn't, either. The man had spent how many weeks sleeping at S.T.A.R. Labs? And Barry had enough experience to know that the only actual beds there -the hospital style ones- were simultaneously the best, whilst being about as comfortable as sleeping on a rock. So he was fine with sleeping on the couch for a night, if it meant Harry got to have an actual bed.

"You're too good to me, Barry…" Harry murmured quietly.

Barry considered how to respond to that, then decided he did not want to have this conversation on the street in front of a bar. Especially not where someone might recognise Harrison Wells, even though tonight had gone remarkably well aside from the fuss at the start.

So he tugged Harry towards the side of the building.

"Where're we…?" Harry began in a mildly protesting tone, but his wits swiftly caught up with him. "Oh, right, can't go running off in the middle of the sidewalk."

"Nope," Barry agreed. "Hold on."

Once Harry's arms were securely around his shoulders (and mental images of other situations involving that safely blocked out), he scooped the man up and dashed for his apartment. And Harry was a lot heavier than he looked at first glance, though he _was_ pretty muscular. (Barry put the brakes on that train of thought as well.)

He sat Harry down as soon as they were in front of the door. Except Harry didn't let go of him.

"Whoa."

"…Please don't throw up on me," Barry said with a wince.

"I'm not going to throw up on you, Allen," Harry chided. "Just… let's never do that again unless I'm sober."

"Gotcha."

He fumbled a bit getting his key in the lock, because it was kind of difficult to steady his hands when Harry was pressed up against him, warm breath ghosting over his neck. He managed, though, and lightly shoved Harry away and towards the door the second he had it open.

"You know, you're right," Barry finally remarked.

"I always am, but what are you referring to specifically?" Harry muttered as he took in his surroundings, voice slower than usual.

He was kind of impressed that the man still had his usual level of eloquence and snark. Kind of. That didn't keep him from rolling his eyes.

"That I'm too good to you. Because I believe I said no deliberately spoiling the mood, and you definitely did that."

Harry spun to glare at him, but the affrontedness of his gaze was ruined by the fact that the rapid motion clearly dizzied him. "When?!"

"Let's see… We could start with your choice of song."

"You don't have the same singers here, Johnny Cash was the first one I recognised that I knew I could sing, and I was _not_ doing 'Ring of Fire'," Harry snapped.

He sighed and tried not to laugh. And he definitely was not picturing Harry singing that song, either. Nope. "Okay, fine. What about trying to make me bribe you?"

Harry blinked at him, and he had no right to look that bemused. None. Whatsoever. "Bribe… bribe…" He tilted his head as he continued to blink. "Oh, that?"

"Yes, _that._ "

"I'm not actually going to tell Caitlin you said that. Never was, either," Harry finally said, mouth sliding into an odd smile. Odd in the sense that it was entirely fond, not mocking in any way. And Harry probably would have thought he had good reason to make fun of Barry for taking that threat seriously.

"You're kidding me," Barry almost whinged. "If you weren't gonna tell her, then why did you even…?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," Harry said. For a moment, Barry had the impression that Harry was disappointed, but even drunk, the man had a pretty tight rein on his facial expressions. "That's all."

"Oh…" Barry looked away, cleared his throat. "Well. Um. Here, lemme give you the tour."

Which was admittedly pretty short even without super speed, since it wasn't like his apartment was huge, but it was enough to distract from the awkward tension he felt beginning to build.

"Right, so, here's the bathroom, aaaand here's the bedroom, and that's the tour," Barry quipped weakly. "Feel free to borrow whatever you need, though I don't think I have an extra toothbrush."

Harry's mouth quirked to the side in what could only be a suppressed grin. "I'll live."

He cleared his throat again, looked away. "Okay. Good. Um."

" _Barry._ "

There was so much raw, unidentifiable intent in his voice that Barry was incapable of not looking at Harry once more.

The sudden stiff embrace still caught him off guard, which meant he returned it slowly and uncertainly.

"Thank you. I had… fun." Harry shook slightly, and it was only the soft sound that accompanied it that allowed Barry to recognise it as a laugh. "But don't expect this to happen again."

Barry was unable to help his own answering laugh. "Fair enough."


	3. Cultural Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **• Day 3:** Multiverse
> 
> _Part of travelling to another universe is, of course, learning the local culture. In this case? Snacks._
> 
> Blame dancesontrains for the initial idea of snack food, and jujubiest for me posting this atrocity.
> 
> (There are very few things you could possibly say about this that I haven't thought already...)

Harrison stares at the open foil bag before him with great trepidation, considering the characteristics of the supposed food contained within. It's… unnaturally coloured, oddly shaped, smells _weird,_ and that is only the start of the veritable laundry list of complaints he could make without actually having to touch the snack, much less put it in his mouth.

"Barry," he says cautiously, "I am fairly certain food should not be this _orange._ "

The younger man raises an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. "Carrots. Oranges. Bell peppers. The list goes on, Harry."

He sits back in his chair, still wary of the food that Barry is insisting he try. "You have a point, and I will grant you that point, but those are naturally orange. Not… this. It looks artificial, are you _sure_ it's actually going to taste like cheese?"

Harry gestures helplessly at the bag as he speaks. Yes, carrots and oranges are bright, but this… this is almost _offensively_ orange, and pushes a bit too bright, too red, to be anything like the more pleasing colours of actual food.

Barry laughs, rolling his eyes good naturedly. "Of course it looks artificial! Food colouring. Don't they have that on Earth-yours? And, look, trust me. They definitely taste like cheese."

He tugs the bag a little closer, eyes the equally bright cartoon cheetah on the package with a little annoyance at the pun it makes with the product name, and then decides to get this over with. Harry picks up a cheeto. Frowns. It feels powdery. "This had better not turn my fingers orange."

"…Oh, uh. It will. But that's like half the deliciousness right there."

Harrison drops the cheeto like it is hot, scowls at it. He has _standards,_ and one of those includes not eating food that is going to leave him coated in powder. He doesn't care for powdered donuts, he won't go near funnel cake if it's got confectioner's sugar on top, and he is _not_ eating _these._ Orange powder is probably just as difficult to get out of clothing as white. And he really can't stand the texture of it under his fingers, anyways.

"Eat the cheeto, Harry." Barry crosses his arms, shoots him a stubborn look. He doesn't need to be an expert at reading body language or facial expressions to know that he's not getting out of this one easily.

He's half-tempted to try bolting for the door, see if Barry is so intent on sharing Earth-2 culture in the form of junk food that he'd give chase. Now that would be fun.

Still, he is a man of his word and he did say that he'd willingly try some of Barry's favourite snacks. Which means no fleeing just yet. He sighs. "Go get me some gloves from one of the labs, and I will."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Barry jolts with indignance. "You can't wear gloves! It ruins the experience! They'll taste like latex or vinyl or whatever!"

"Chopsticks, then!" he snaps. Harrison wants to snipe at him about how this isn't rocket science, just get him something so he doesn't have to touch the things again and he will eat them-

Except gods curse Barry Allen, because he's plucked a cheeto from the bag and popped it into his mouth. That isn't why he's cursing Barry, though. No, he's cursing Barry because the boy follows that up by slowly sucking the 'cheese' powder off his fingertips whilst looking him dead in the eye.

He clears his throat, looks away, and nudges the bag closer to Barry. And not because he wants a repeat performance of that, either, though it certainly wouldn't _hurt._ "Well, since you're enjoying yourself, you eat them."

"Yeah, no. The entire point here is to introduce you to Earth-this-one snacks." He nibbles lightly at a fingernail, no doubt trying to extricate a bit of stuck flavouring.

"I have been introduced," he points out blandly, "And I have also made it clear that I am not getting that powder all over my fingers."

Barry reaches into the bag again, extracting another cheeto. But he doesn't eat this one. No, instead, he holds it up, right in front of Harrison's mouth. He flinches back slightly from the smell -it's… not entirely pleasant-, and stares at Barry, gaze flat and eyebrow quirked.

"You're going to _feed them to me._ "

"Hey," Barry says, eyebrow raising up to mirror Harry's expression, "You're the one being a baby about a little cheese powder, so yeah, sure. I'm doing this."

"You are remarkably persistent," he mutters.

There's really nothing for it, because whilst he's pretty sure Barry won't _force feed_ him the damn cheetos, he doesn't like the idea of going back on his word. Nor does he want to disappoint Barry, he's done quite enough of that over far more serious matters.

Harrison leans forward slightly, careful to catch the cheeto between his teeth and not let it touch his lips. He tugs it from Barry's gentle grasp, sucks it into his mouth, and immediately has a wide number of regrets. Not so much from the flavour, which is not quite what he'd call cheese but still pleasantly salty and savoury. No, it is entirely the graininess of the powder, the odd dense crunch of the batter that makes up the body of the snack. How it feels like flaky mush against his tongue.

He forces himself to swallow, then reaches desperately for his bottle of water and downs half of it in seemingly one go.

"…Sorry? Guess cheese powder isn't your thing," Barry mutters before shoving a small cluster of cheetos into his mouth.

He lowers the bottle, notes exactly where Barry's gaze was looking, and considers his options. "It wasn't the flavour, Barry. It was the texture."

"Texture?" Barry asks around a mouthful of snack.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth, and yes. Texture. Let's skip any other similarly -I assume fried- snacks."

Barry chews thoughtfully, swallows, and then nods. "Okay, fair enough."

Barry eats another cheeto, and is about to start licking his fingers clean when Harrison gives into the impulse to reach out and grab his wrist. Barry blinks at him, remembers the earlier admonition, and waits until his mouth is clear to speak.

"Don't tell me. Bad manners to lick my fingers?"

"Actually," Harry hums, bringing Barry's hand closer to himself, "No."

"Then wha- _Oh._ "

He's still not overly fond of the powder texture, but the flavour, which was acceptable before? Well, he might just have to agree with Barry that half the deliciousness comes from licking it off his skin. Or maybe it's from how Barry is flushing, staring at him open-mouthed and glassy-eyed as Harrison runs his tongue over the length of his index finger.

Harrison releases Barry's hand, fully expecting him to pull away. After all, Barry is as red as his sweater now, clearly flustered, and he really doesn't expect much in the way of aggression -so to speak- from him. He's cute, yes, but nothing about him screams 'sex'.

Which makes it his turn to be shocked when instead Barry pushes his thumb between his lips, hooking it over his teeth and pressing down on his tongue. Harry complies readily with the implied demand, sucking lightly, running his tongue over Barry's skin. Every nerve in his body is alert, which is probably responsible for how he feels like he can map every ridge and valley in the whorl of Barry's thumbprint with his tongue.

Finally, he pulls back, scraping his teeth deliberately as he moves.

"…Not bad, though I can certainly think of things I'd rather put in my mouth," he remarks mildly, like his pupils aren't blown with arousal, like his jeans haven't become uncomfortably tight.

Barry just laughs, soft and heavy and low, and it's really one of the more pleasant sounds in either world.


	4. Drop Our Anchors in a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **• Day 4:** Threesome
> 
> beta read by dancesontrains
> 
> _Both of them are known on their earths for their unique genius, the ability to come up with improbably workable ideas and solutions to seemingly any problem. That said, Harry is fairly convinced his counterpart has lost his damn mind with this one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days late, yeesh, but between real life and how this idea really ran away with me...
> 
> Some things to keep in mind, otherwise you're gonna get confused:
> 
> • E-1 Harrison Wells is always Harrison.  
> • E-2 Harrison Wells is usually Harry, but sometimes referred to as 'Chambers'. (See: headcanon mentioned on Day 2, wherein E-2 Harrison has the same surname as his daughter.)  
> • E-1 Harrison is around by the power of plot force. Reader's Digest version of the Cliff's Notes: Paradox happened, Eobard was erased but his actions weren't, but Harrison got left behind because the paradox only erased Eobard's soul and left Harrison's body alone because genetically not Eobard. (Just... go with it, mkay. There's more to it, but I'm not going into it here because this is already two-thirds the length of the prior three days combined.)
> 
> And, yes, apparently this is just gonna be the week of varying degrees of ridiculous.

"Are you insane?" Harry yelps.

He stares down at the other man incredulously, still trying to process what he had just suggested, and failing miserably. In fact, his brain feels like it's shut down entirely, because the scope of that idea is incomprehensible, impossible, why would he even suggest such a thing.

"Nope!" Harrison grins up at his doppelgänger and clicks the control stick of his wheelchair in that annoying fashion that makes Harry grit his teeth and count backwards from random digits in irrational numbers so he doesn't break every bone in Harrison's hand. "Well… maybe? But, of course, that then should make you question your sanity."

" _My_ sanity is unquestionable because _I'm_ not the one who spent fifteen years stuck in the mind of a _sociopath,_ " and doesn't Harry regret that sentence as soon as he finishes it? He does, immensely, because naked hurt flashes across Harrison's face. And Harry has a very hard time seeing his _own_ face look that vulnerable. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

He rubs the back of his neck and avoids looking at Harrison except out of his periphery, because whilst the apology smooths most of the upset from his face, Harrison is no good at keeping his emotions out of his eyes. And those clear frames of his don't really help him any.

"Mm, well, you do have a point," Harrison clicks his wheelchair again. "But improbable ideas have always been a specialty of _mine,_ so again. You should question your sanity."

"Just because we're _counterparts -_ "

"Particle accelerator."

"…Shut up."

"Make me."

Harry swears he's going to end up with an aneurysm, and not from the stress of trying to rescue his daughter, nor even the additional stress of the fact that people on Earth-2 seem to be more concerned with their sex-slash-love lives than anything else. No. His eventual stroke is going to be purely the fault of Harrison Wells.

He drops his hand, sighs loudly. "I have not even been here a month. A _month._ And you are under the impression that you can -"

"I'm not under the impression I can read your mind, Chambers," Harrison remarks.

"Stop. That." He swears to the gods, if Harrison finishes _one more of his sentences…_

"You don't like it because it proves that I know you as well as I know myself, so, no, I don't think I will." The words are practically chirped; a stark contrast to the very mild not-quite-threat inherent in them.

Anyone who thinks Harrison is all sweetness and light really needs to be privy to the private conversations he has with his counterpart, because Harry is acutely aware that there's more there: A certain proclivity to manipulate. A steel backbone and razor sharpness. A shadow that he sees as native to their natures, though others here might see it as a lingering remnant of Thawne. 

Which is probably why he's the one who sees the most of it, outside of when Harrison has to play to the public here, who has certain expectations of Dr Wells by now.

Harry clenches his fists tightly, pictures strangling Harrison, and then exhales very slowly as he relaxes his hands. He lets the mental image fade, until it is gone with the last breath of air from his lungs. "You do not know me that well, and the fact that you would even suggest something as… as ridiculous as _both of us_ … pursuing Allen!"

"It's not that ridiculous! You think he's cute. I think he's cute. It might be good for all of us." Harrison shrugs, his grin still annoyingly _knowing._

This. This right here is why they _both_ apparently needed their respective Tess. Though Harry is fairly certain Harrison has the more off-the-wall ideas of the two of them.

"Explain to me, exactly, how on _either_ earth this would be good for any of us. Because he still has issues, from Thawne, and guess who we both look like to him."

Harrison quirks his eyebrows, mouth slightly pinched with wry consideration. "Chambers. _I_ still have issues from Thawne, you implied it yourself. But there's really no sense in not trying to move on."

Harry throws his hands up in frustration. "Move on. Move on? I have slightly more important things to worry about than the two of you _moving on_ from your issues with Eobard Thawne and _why_ does this even have to involve sex?!"

Harrison pushes himself up with his arms to adjust his postioning in his chair, huffing quietly as he moves. His brows are furrowed by the time he re-settles, looking back up at Harry. "But you don't disagree that he's cute."

He stares at his doppelgänger for a long moment, feeling the seconds tick by into eternity as he tries to even follow the thought process involved. " _That's_ what you took away from everything I just said?!"

He spins around, turning his back to Harrison as he rubs his forehead in frustration. What… how… there's no logic here. None. How is this man possibly his counterpart, how did he get anywhere with science, how does his brain even work. 

This time, when he hears the wheelchair click, it's followed by the soft sound of the wheels engaging, drawing Harrison closer to him. Up alongside him. There's a light touch to his elbow, barely palpable through the thick fabric of his hoodie, which makes him look down.

"You do realise that it takes a fair amount of trust to be in a relationship with someone, right?"

He casts his gaze heavenwards - or what would be heavenwards, were the ceiling not in his way - and groans in annoyance. " _Yes._ I had a wife, you know."

The hand leaves his elbow. "So, if he's willing to date someone who looks like the man who killed his mother - well, excep-"

"-t for the fact that Thawne did not look like us when he did so, yes, I know, but logic is not going to erase the fact that Allen only ever knew Thawne with our face, so continue." Two can play at the finishing thoughts game, after all.

Harrison chuckles. "He would have to trust that the person he's with isn't Eobard Thawne."

There's a pause there, but before Harry can speak, it ends.

"Well, _any more,_ in my case," Harrison mutters drily.

Harry still isn't entirely sure how that works, because biology was never his science of choice. But he understands the basic theories of how neurons connect, forming a sort of map that, when signals follow certain paths on it, encode memories and personality. Which roughly means that Eobard Thawne isn't truly dead, because the echo of his existence still rattles around Harrison's head.

He looks down, to find that Harrison isn't looking up at him as he speaks. "Your point is?"

"If he trusts us that much, then… Wouldn't that only help? Because right now, he still looks at both of us like we might be Thawne, even if he's th-"

"-e most willing to give us a chance," Harry finishes grimly. He steps over in front of Harrison and drops to a crouch, balancing with his forearms on his knees. "By that logic, we'd be better off pursuing Snow and Ramon."

"…Well, you're not wrong."

"So why Barry?"

"Because Caitlin is head-over-heels for _Mr Garrick,_ " and there's another thing they share, this mutual dislike of Jay Garrick, though Harrison has never explained why he developed such feelings, "And, honestly, I don't see Cisco that way. Neither do you, I suspect."

Harry cants his head slightly in agreement. "Accurate assessment."

Because Ramon is really turning out to be more like the annoying younger brother he never wanted. Ever. At all.

"Any further questions?"

"Yes," he says, gaze flicking to a point over Harrison's shoulder, then back to meet his eyes. "Why _both of us_?"

Harrison fidgets a bit, looking thoroughly discomfited by the question, and it's about damn time that Harry wasn't the only one feeling awkward here. He looks away, up at the ceiling, sighs, tilts his neck whilst still looking up, wrings his hands. A study in kinetic anxiety.

He quirks an eyebrow and waits.

Finally, Harrison sighs once more and looks down at his hands in his lap, then almost shyly glances over his glasses frame at Harry. "I imagine as a very healthy young twenty-six year old he might want a decent sex life?"

Ah, yes, the paralysis. Though Harry also is unsure how that works, because supposedly Thawne had a healing factor not unlike Barry's. However, unlike Thawne had been, Harrison isn't faking his paraplegia. There had been plenty of tests, apparently, to prove that much.

However.

"That might be why you would encourage _me_ to pursue him instead of doing so yourself, but it does not adequately answer the question asked." 

Harrison sighs and hides his face in his hands, nudging his glasses up onto his forehead. Which doesn't entirely hide the embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. "I might be a bit vain?"

Harry's other eyebrow goes up as he considers that.

"…Shut up," Harrison mumbles around his palms.

"I said nothing."

* * *

Harry walks away from that conversation ready to kick himself, and by himself he means not just his own person, but also that of Harrison. Because on the tails of the very awkward confession that his doppelgänger was apparently narcissistic enough to find himself physically attractive - not that Harry wasn't well aware they were good-looking, because he'd certainly used his appearance as part of his charm, but there were _limits_ -, he'd been asked to decide if they were going to pursue Allen.

He'd made a very valiant effort to say no, except. _Except._

Well, let's just say that he discovered today why Jesse had never looked much like _Tess_ when she was trying to get her way. He hadn't ever quite been able to place her facial expressions until today, but apparently Harrison pouted in very much the same manner as his daughter.

Which meant presumably he did as well, but Harry hadn't pouted in _decades._

* * *

"This isn't working," Harry remarks as he swings his feet up onto Harrison's coffee table.

Harrison gives him a reproachful look which he studiously ignores. Honestly, the man is probably just jealous that he can't easily do the same. If his boots leave any mark on the surface, Harry will just wipe it off, so there's really no point in being bothered about it.

"We're just confusing him," he continues.

There isn't a response to that, but Harry wasn't expecting one, since Harrison is a bit pre-occupied with transferring himself to the couch and pulling his legs up so he can lay down. He doesn't miss the wince as Harrison eases his back down against the cushions, but he doesn't remark on it either. They're both stubbornly prideful men, and commenting on something Harrison perceives as a weakness?

Not a good idea, to say the very least.

"I'm aware of that," Harrison finally replies, once he's settled in. "It probably has something to do with your horrendous ability to express positive emotion."

Harry is almost offended, except Harrison does have a point. "I'd like to point out that this _is_ distracting us from stopping Zoom and rescuing my daughter."

"I thought having to rescue Caitlin from Grodd was a bigger distraction, myself," Harrison muses.

"Point," he replies absently. That had… been an interesting experience. Staring down a giant psychic gorilla whilst imitating the voice in his ear, repeating the assurances of power and glory that were promised in an almost hypnotic tone. It would have been so much easier if Harrison could have been the one in the suit, but they had managed. Though the rest of the team hadn't looked at either of them quite the same for about a week afterwards.

"That… certainly didn't help Barry's impression of us, though, which is why you really need to work on your flirting. Weren't you married?"

"I was, yes." Harrison's fingers go to his neck, before he remembers he left the chain that carries Tess and his wedding set back on his earth, carefully tucked away for safekeeping.

"How on earth did you manage that?"

Harry chuckles, leaning back in his chair and resting his clasped hands over his stomach. "Well, Tess smiled at me, and I somehow came up with what may have been the best worst pick-up line in human history."

"…Huh," Harrison mutters, "You did better than me. I literally fell for her. Well. On her. I tripped, and Tess just so happened to be in the path of my momentum."

That makes Harry laugh openly. It feels strange in his throat, wrong somehow to be able to find genuine amusement when there's so much wrong in his life. Yet, he can't quite help himself.

"I wouldn't recommend that, for the record."

Harry shakes his head slightly, grinning over at Harrison. "Mm, no, I can't see that working in this situation."

"Maybe try the pick-up line?"

"No, no. It only worked because I'd just met her."

"Ah," Harrison says. He cringes again as he squirms against the couch. He doesn't look very comfortable at all.

Apparently, spending all day seated, with no real ability to change position, was not as easy on the back as one might assume. It made perfect sense; there was simply no way to relieve the strain on certain muscles, make them work in a different way than they had been by simply getting up and walking somewhere. And no amount of padding would keep soreness away forever.

Harry drums his fingers on the back of his hand as he watches Harrison fidget.

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Harrison grumbles.

Harry shakes his head and brings his feet down from the table to stand up. He crosses the short distance to the couch, looks down at Harrison. His tongue darts out over his lips as he thinks. "Roll over."

"…What?"

"You heard me."

"Not exactly a simple process, Chambers." And, yes, Harrison is right and therefore has every reason to sound put out about the demand, but Harry isn't in the mood to deal with it.

Besides, if this keeps up, Harrison is going to break out the muscle relaxers. And Harry is _really_ not in any mood to deal with _that_ again.

"If you don't roll over, I will roll you over. Now, move," Harry barks.

Harrison gives him a mild, tolerant look. "Not all of us were in the army, Chambers. Your NCO voice has no power here."

Harry sighs, then leans over to grab Harrison's shoulders. He meant what he'd threatened, about manoeuvring Harrison himself if needs be. Which earns him an indignant noise, and hands pushing him away as Harrison squawks about how he'll do it himself, God _damn it_ Harrison!

He can't help the grin at getting Harrison to finally use their first name.

Once his counterpart is settled on his stomach, Harry perches himself on the edge of the couch. He studies Harrison's back, specifically the shift and play of his muscles under the thin t-shirt he wears. If he's right, judging by how Harrison was adjusting his position, where the tension seems to be despite the fabric blocking his view, and where his own back tends to knot up after sitting too long…

Harry clenches his fist, leaving the knuckles of his index and middle fingers poking out a bit, aims, and digs his bones into Harrison's back hard, with a twisting motion. Even if it weren't for the knot he can feel, the pained cry Harrison lets slip tells him he's found the right spot.

He continues to attack that knot, pushing and prodding at the muscle until it finally releases.

"I have an idea for how we might get an answer from Barry about your little idea," he remarks over the pleased mewl Harrison makes in response to the freed knot. "We just need to wait until the others have left the lab for the night. Unless you want to invite him over, of course."

" _Mm,_ " Harrison agrees absently. "The lab, I think. Having him over might be awkward if he says no."

"Good point," Harry concedes, shifting his focus to the next point of tension he identifies.

"Will you-" a quiet whimper, "-tell me what we're going to be doing, then?"

"Nope."

* * *

To say that he is confused would be understating Barry's current emotional state concerning Harrison Wells and Harrison Chambers Wells to a very ridiculous degree.

There might not even be a word in any language that can accurately describe how bewildered, befuddled, bemused he is by the two men and how they have been acting lately. 

Because he's pretty sure at least one of them is flirting with him.

Okay, rephrase that.

He's positive Harrison is flirting with him, because the guy is about as subtle as a wrecking ball. No way can he misread the wide smiles and casual touches as anything but flirting, especially not when Harrison peppers them liberally with compliments and poorly hidden longing looks. And there's this one particular way he says the word 'hello' that makes Barry blush from the roots of his hair all the way down…

And then, there was the matter of Harry.

Who… okay, Harry is much more subtle. Actually, it's really a case of turn his head and squint, because he's not quite sure if he's just reading too much into it based on Harrison. The two are so very clearly complements of each other - Harry is indisputably just a more bitter, angry, _desperate_ version of Harrison (and understandably so), with a lot more experience in fighting and weapons handling - and it's difficult to not read Harry the same way he does Harrison. Especially in those rare moments when he gets two identical faces looking at him with the same expression.

But Harry definitely seems to enjoy being around him more than he likes almost any other member of Team Flash. And he likes shooting him secretive half-smiles. And he doesn't pick and prod at Barry's traumas the way he does Cisco's, nor does he limit their conversations primarily to science the way he does Caitlin's. And then there was the fact that he had a tendency to say 'hello' in the exact same tone Harrison did, although with less overt staring and more of a wry, grim demeanour.

So, yes, probably flirting as well.

Which only made his confusion _worse,_ because not all of it had to do with how they acted around him.

No, there was also the matter of how they treated each _other._

Again, Harrison is just _not subtle._ And Harry is in certain ways just as bad.

Like, Harrison is far more physical with Harry than he is with Barry; he'll grab Harry's arm or hand, shove his side, prod him in the leg. And unlike with anyone else, Harry tolerates the constant touching. Actually, no, he encourages it, in a way, because he usually ends up standing near Harrison whenever they're in the same room together. Usually ends up resting his hand on Harrison's head, patting him on the shoulder, leaning casually against the back of the wheelchair.

Harry snarks at Harrison the same as he does anyone else, except when one of his comments is just a little _too_ cutting, he apologises. He doesn't apologise to the rest of them! But Harrison gives back as good as he gets, in his own way, poking at Harry with kind tones and too-insightful comments.

And then there's the fact that they _finish each other's sentences._

Yes, okay, he was probably reading too much into it, because he was interpreting _that_ based on how they acted with him. But they seriously acted like an old married couple some days. Or maybe it was just a doppelgänger thing. It was probably a doppelgänger thing. No one would look at identical twins and assume flirting or more in the way they seemed to live on the same wavelength.

But then, no one else had the ability to watch the moments between seconds. Where they'd lean into each others' touch, briefly, before the usual song-and-dance of pushing away, of irritation. The odd softness that sometimes crosses Harry's face, countered by the burning intensity in Harrison's.

It was enough to make him wonder just how _close_ they _really_ were.

Though he tried to not let his mind wander down that path too much, because. Well. He'd had a crush - a serious, hardcore crush and not just the intellectual thing most people thought it was - on Dr Wells since he was a teenager. And Barry was totally aware that he could just be reading too much into things because he thought Dr Wells was hot. And it wasn't like people didn't fantasise about identical twins. So, it was perfectly normal, in a way, to imagine the _both of them -_

Except he was not thinking about that.

Besides, he wasn't even sure what he was going to do about either of them flirting with _him._

Because - and it's so unfair, he _knows_ \- Barry isn't always quite sure if Harrison's interest is purely his own. If it's not some lingering fragment of Eobard Thawne. Not that he thinks Eobard was ever _interested_ in him, but the crazy bastard had been _obsessed_ with him, and that was close enough.

And there's the matter of Harry not even being from this universe. Long distances are one thing, but he's pretty sure there are limits to the separation you can put between two people before it's just not viable. And once they rescue Harry's kid and stop Zoom, then there'll be no reason to keep the breaches open.

* * *

Barry is leaning back against a desk, next to one of the computers, discussing the results of his latest session on the treadmill with Harrison when Harry enters the Cortex. He isn't paying much attention to him, because Harrison is all but gushing about how not only has his speed completely returned, he's fairly certain that Barry has actually gotten a little faster. Of course, he'll have to check against prior logs to be sure, but -

Not that Harrison has a chance to move over to a computer, because Harry slides into the spot next to Barry. He glances over to see that Harry is already bringing up the records that have been kept on Barry's speed.

"Unless he's surpassed Mach 2 again, probably not," Harry notes as he scrolls through the most recent notes.

"Ah, right, I forgot about that. No, I don't think so, but in terms of treadmill sessions?"

"Mm, well, by that metric, you may be on to something. He doesn't tend to be quite as fast on the treadmill as he is on the streets."

Barry cuts in jokingly, "He's also standing right here, you two."

Harrison laughs, and a hint of amusement twists the side of Harry's mouth that Barry can see.

"That he is. Which reminds me, Barry, I had a question for you," Harry notes as he continues to peruse the records.

"Oh? Sure, what's up?"

Harry pauses, finger resting on the arrow key, but he doesn't look over at Barry. He works his jaw back and forth a moment, before he speaks. "You do realise that we both find you attractive and have been flirting with you, right?"

That. Was not at all what Barry had been expecting Harry to ask. Ever. He doesn't think there is a universe or a timeline where he'd even begin to have anticipated that question.

He stares at Harry in open-mouthed shock, then dares a glance at Harrison to see what he thinks about this.

Harrison is glaring daggers at Harry's back, which is mildly terrifying in a way, because he doesn't think he's ever seen Harrison _angry._ Didn't even know the guy felt that range of emotions, honestly. But then Harrison notices the weight of Barry's gaze, and his eyes flick to Barry's face, his expression softening to something shy and apologetic. 

He shrugs, the motion a bit helpless. "Well, he's not lying."

"Um," Barry says.

Harry turns his head to look at him. "Now that we've established that, will you please just give us a yes or a no so we can move _on_ with our lives?"

"Um… Wait. When you say 'us', do you mean… together? Both of you?" Which, wow, was not the most intelligent way he could have phrased that, but if he's misinterpreting that phrasing… Well, he'd look even stupider for assuming that Harry and Harrison were proposing a _poly_ relationship, because most people don't do that kind of thing. And Harry and Harrison are basically genetically the same, which then raises questions of would that count as _incest,_ and- Nope! Not going there.

Because Harry is giving him a very flat stare that suggests he's wondering if Barry is mentally challenged in some way he hadn't noticed until now. "Ye-es," he hisses, "Both of us. As in, three people, one relationship, is that not a thing on this earth?"

The click and whirr of Harrison's wheelchair is the only warning either of them get that Harrison is coming closer, and Barry can't help but feel suddenly trapped. Except it's Harry that Harrison stops closer to. Harry doesn't seem to pay him much attention, until Harrison's elbow snaps out and hits him solidly on his thigh, making Harry yelp.

Which in turn makes Harry glare down at Harrison.

Harrison just quirks an eyebrow, looking up over the clear rim of the glasses he perpetually wears. Then he turns his focus back to Barry.

And Barry is pretty sure he looks absolutely stupid with bewilderment, because Harrison gives him a fondly sympathetic look. "I suppose it is a bit strange… but it certainly seemed like a better idea than _competing_ for your interest."

Harry actually looks oddly impressed, despite how he rubs his leg and continues to frown at Harrison. Barry isn't sure why, and he's not sure he wants to know why, to be honest.

And yet, all Barry can do is observe, because his brain still hasn't quite managed to actually _think_ about they are proposing.

"Uh."

"Words, Allen. Words would be very - OW! Will you _stop_ that?!" Harry rounds on Harrison fully, hands in tight, shaking fists. Like he really wants to hit Harrison back for being elbowed twice in the span of as many minutes, but he's holding back.

Harrison gives Harry an almost beatific smile, before he looks back over at Barry. "Take your time. It's a lot to take in."

Understatement of the year. Right there. His mind is finally starting up the whole thinking process, but it's currently settled on an endless loop of 'oh my god what'.

There are so many reasons why he can't handle this at all. So many. And plenty of them also feed into why this would be a bad idea and he should -and will- definitely say no, and let those two get back to whatever their relationship is -and oh God, are they _in_ one? He thought he was just reading too much into things!

The facts are:

A./ Even though Thawne was evil and obsessed and sociopathic, he still liked the guy at first. And maybe that was just some gentling influence from Harrison's lingering memories and personality, that had led Thawne to be remotely likeable, but. It had been a thing.

B./ Even though he didn't trust Harrison at first, the guy has definitely grown on him. It would have been stupid to just instantly trust him, because he had Thawne's memories, personality, and if he had managed to influence Eobard, then there was no way that didn't work in reverse. But he was just effusively energetic and cheerful, and that was hard to not like.

C./ Even though Harry is an _asshole,_ he's not a bad person. A desperate one, yeah, rougher around the edges and hardened by life. And it's uncanny because hindsight makes Barry feel more like Eobard had been mimicking _Harry_ and not _Harrison,_ but he can't begin to figure out how that would have happened. And yet, there's a warmth buried underneath all that bristle and vinegar, one that makes a fuzzy feeling form in Barry's heart when it shows itself.

And then. There's D.

D./ Harrison (Chambers) Wells is still really hot. And Barry is only human.

Which is probably why his mouth opens whilst his brain is still going a hundred miles a minute, and he hears his own voice say, "Yeah, sure, why not, it could be fun?" in a desperately puzzled but kind of hopeful querying tone.

And then he snaps his jaw shut, trying to figure out how to get out of this, because his mouth definitely did _not_ properly consult with his brain, except.

Harrison is beaming at him, eyes bright, leaning slightly forward in his chair with earnest affection.

And the same expression is mirrored on Harry's face for a brief second, before being replaced by the sort of look that says Harry isn't entirely sure what his face just _did_ , but he'd be very happy if it never did so again. And that's just as endearing as Harrison's obvious joy.

He's so screwed.

But he finds that, oddly enough, he's too happy to mind at all.


End file.
